


Songs In the Dark

by secooper87



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, Doctor Who
Genre: Captivity, Crossover, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-30
Updated: 2012-06-30
Packaged: 2017-11-08 20:54:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 15,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/447450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secooper87/pseuds/secooper87
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The White Witch rules Narnia with an iron fist, fearing only the prophecy which foretells her downfall. But then a Time Lord appears in Narnia. He could be the answer to all her prayers, or he could be the cause of her destruction. Whumpy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The Doctor didn't really understand how he'd gotten there. One moment, he had been on 20th century Earth—in the English countryside, actually, on a lovely summer morning—and then suddenly, without any rhyme or reason, he had wound up here.

He didn't know where "here" was, either. It certainly wasn't Earth—the rotation of the planet felt off. Almost two dimensional, he thought. But it was rather beautiful. The landscape was white, as if someone had wrapped up the entire planet in a fluffy white duvet, and it had snuggled in for a long slumber. Slender icicles dripped down from tree branches overhead, their crystalline molecular structure glimmering like jewels. The sun, itself, seemed to be similar to Sol, although slightly redder in color. Its light trailed through the air with a languid sort of ease, making the snow twinkle like the night sky.

The Doctor paused, and looked about. The fauna certainly looked Earth-based—he could see pine trees, oak trees, and some maple trees, along with a variety of Earth bushes and weeds that he remembered Perry lecturing him about several lifetimes ago. Perhaps he should have been paying better attention. Still, there was nothing that could explain how he got there. He frowned in confusion, and got out his sonic screwdriver. He scanned the landscape around him. Certainly not Earth, as he'd suspected. No signs of a transmat or teleport. No signs of anything that could have taken him there, really. Which made him wonder…

"What are you doing, mucking about?" came a high pitched voice from down by the Doctor's feet. "It's not safe to be out in the open, not looking like that."

The Doctor looked down, and found a rather well dressed little Cat snapping at him. The Cat wore a very nicely tailored dress and apron, with a little straw hat perched on her head. The Doctor scratched the back of his neck. He knew that cats eventually evolved into sentient creatures, but not for centuries yet, and that would mean that he'd somehow been transported through both space and time, and he was certain he would have been able to tell something like that. At the very least, it should have made him unbearably nauseous. "I'm terribly sorry. Would you mind telling me the date?"

"It is the year 1000 in the Age of Winter," said the Cat. "How could you not know something like that?" The Cat eyed him suspiciously, then her eyes widened. She stepped back. "You're a Son of Adam!"

"I'm the son of whom?" the Doctor asked. He scrunched up his face in thought. "Adam. Adam. Adam. Wouldn't happen to be a rather dumpy looking kid from around the year 2012, thin face, dour expression, with a…" He pointed to his forehead. "…snappy personality?"

"Son of Adam, you aren't safe here," said the Cat. "You have to leave. If the White Witch finds you, she will kill you along with the others."

"Ah, others, you say," said the Doctor. "Definitely not me, then." He tapped the sonic screwdriver against his lips, putting it all together in his mind. "Earth based vegetation, along with Earth based animals—who speak English, apparently, and with a rather good London accent—but not Earth. Which means that either someone has taken a real shine to Earth, or there have been humans here before." He gave the Cat his most charming smile. "Am I right?"

"The White Witch knows that you are coming," said the Cat. "She seeks to prevent the prophecy. For your own safety and protection, you must hide."

The Doctor felt the wind pick up, and for the first time since he got here, he felt a large energy source in the air, tickling the hair on the back of his hands. But this was not the kind of energy that would power a teleport. It was some sort of powerful psionic presence, approaching him from a distance. He put the sonic screwdriver back in his pocket, and peered through the trees. He could see a speck of something moving across the snow—just the faintest hint that something was approaching them. The Doctor knew enough to trust his instincts, and every instinct was telling him to run for it.

"Well, then, Cat-in-the-hat," said the Doctor. "Allons-y!"

As he began to run, the Doctor noticed the Cat's reaction to the French phrase—a look of confusion and bewilderment. That was bad. That meant that the Tardis was not near-at-hand to translate for him. Whoever wanted him here, they didn't want his ship. That certainly narrowed down the possibilities about who had brought him and why.

Not that he'd actually worked out where he was, or how he'd gotten there.

"So, the White Witch and the Age of Winter?" asked the Doctor, as he was running. "That sounds like a tale and a half. Love to hear it, of course, but, well, this is going to sound a bit odd, but you wouldn't happen to know where we are?"

"You are in the land of Narnia," said the Cat, now running alongside the Doctor. "It stretches from Cair Paravel on the eastern sea to the lamppost."

"Lamppost?" asked the Doctor, but the Cat didn't hear him.

"It is fortunate for you that I was the first to find you, Son of Adam," said the Cat. "The White Witch has her kidnappers out and about, searching everywhere for any Sons of Adam or Daughters of Eve who might appear in these woods."

"I told you before, I'm not… oh, never mind," said the Doctor. He could definitely feel a strong telepathic presence in the air, and the smell of the psionics around him was making his nose itch. "So, Narnia is some sort of trap for humans. Your White Witch lures them here, and then hunts them down for sport."

"No," said the Cat. She sounded a little exasperated now. "I told you before. She knows the prophecy. The four thrones of Cair Paravel will be filled once more by the Sons and Daughters of Adam, and then the Evil Time will be over. Winter will end, and Spring will come. The White Witch seeks to prevent the prophecy from occurring. It is she who has reduced our beautiful realm to this—always winter, but never Christmas."

The Doctor couldn't help but think that, with his track record, it might be just as well that there wasn't any Christmas here in Narnia. He didn't think that the native Narnians would be very happy about killer robots or bomb-spewing Christmas trees.

"I suppose the lack of Christmas probably doesn't do your economy any wonders," said the Doctor. "But, well, more to the point, if it's always winter, how do you manage to find any food?"

"We don't," said the Cat.

"Ah," said the Doctor. "That might be a bit of a problem if this seasonal change becomes permanent."

"It has been winter for a hundred years," said the Cat. "We should have starved long ago, but the White Witch conjures food for those in her employ."

"Yes, I've seen this before," said the Doctor. It was a common Dalek tactic, and one that he knew well—to remove all sources of food and shelter, and make the population completely dependent on the monsters that were destroying it. He could still remember one planet during the war, where the Daleks had poisoned the air so that the inhabitants could only survive deep in the mines. His jaw clenched involuntarily. "One hundred years," he muttered under his breath.

He could smell the psionics growing stronger and stronger in the air and by now, he could clearly hear what was pursuing them. It was a jangling sort of sound, like bells, and the clomp of hoofs against packed snow. The telepathic presence had zeroed in on his mind, and he could feel it pressing against his mental defenses with a tremendous force. The Doctor looked down at the Cat.

"You keep going," said the Doctor. "I can't hide from her, now. She's found my mind."

"No," the Cat insisted. "You hide, and wait for the others. I'll make sure she doesn't find you."

"There are no others!" hissed the Doctor. "Listen, whoever it is you're waiting for, it's not me. They're still coming, but it's not me. I'll try to help as best I can, but you have to go!"

The Cat studied him for a moment, then gave him a sad look. "May the Lion protect you," she said, and then darted back into the trees.

The Doctor scratched the back of his head. "Lion?" he wondered. But he supposed that in a world of talking cats, there could well be talking lions. He really hoped this wasn't some human fantasy-planet in the far-future that was set up to recreate the Lion King. He didn't think he could stand that much singing.

Wolves poured out of the forest, their yellow eyes all fixed on the Doctor. They circled him, snapping their jaws and growling menacingly. The Doctor raised up his hands, and tried to act harmless. "Good kitty; good kitty," he said to them.

"Silence," snapped one of the wolves. English accent—Oxfordshire this time.

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. "Talking wolves," he said. "Now there's a marvel. Don't suppose that jingle jangle is Little Red Riding Hood, then?"

The jingling sound of bells stopped as the sleigh approached. It was rather a large sleigh, made completely of ice, and the Doctor wondered how it managed not to melt as the friction between the sleigh and the snow increased. It was being towed by several large reindeer, and driven by a short, stumpy humanoid creature. Inside the sleigh was a woman wrapped in very elegant white firs, along with the kind of long, sloping ball gown that was popular on Earth at the end of the 29th century. Her face was so pale as to be nearly white, and her eyes were cold and unyielding, as she studied the Doctor. She wore a golden crown on her head, and in her hand was a large golden staff, which the Doctor guessed worked as a sort of psionic amplifier. The sleigh pulled up and stopped just in front of the Doctor.

The Doctor applauded. "Oh, very, very nice," he said. "The White Witch herself. How do I address you, exactly? 'Your All-Powerful Witchiness?' Or do you insist on something long, boring and pretentious, like, 'the Lady White Witch of the Great Lands of Narnia, Blessings and Good Cheer Be Upon Her Name?'"

The White Witch stepped out of the carriage, and the Doctor noticed that she was tall by human standards (the same height as him, in fact) so that their eyes naturally bore into one another as she approached. There was a physical coldness—almost a mist—that radiated from her body, making the air freeze as it touched her skin.

"You dare to insult the Queen of Narnia?" she demanded. It was a quiet, calm demand, the sort of demand that one makes when she knows that others have no choice but to obey her. The Doctor took in a sharp breath. It was exactly the same tone of voice that the Time Lords of Gallifrey had used on him when he was a child, and it instinctively made him want to do the opposite of whatever had been demanded of him.

The Doctor bit his tongue. He'd survived 900 years by outsmarting his enemies. He wasn't going to let this remnant of his childhood make him do something stupid. It'd done that enough when he was young.

The White Witch advanced towards him, coming closer and closer until the cold air she emitted nipped the Doctor's fingers, and his arms prickled with goose bumps. "You are not afraid of me, Son of Adam," she said. "Are you really so arrogant, or are you merely a fool?"

"Been said before," said the Doctor.

"Which?"

The Doctor shrugged. "Both, actually. And I'm not a Son of Adam. I wish people would quit saying that." He gave her his largest, friendliest smile, and offered her his hand. "I'm the Doctor."

The White Witch regarded the hand as if unsure how to react to it. Interesting. According to the Cat, the White Witch was obsessed with hunting down any human that might appear in her realm. Yet she seemed unfamiliar with such a basic Earth custom as shaking hands. And something else—she thought _he_ was human. That was odd. After all, she had already zeroed in on his mind. She knew he was a telepath, and she had tested his defenses. Surely, if she knew the first thing about humans in this time period, that would have been a dead giveaway. He wondered how much the White Witch really knew about the species that was destined to supplant her. He tucked these and other queries away for later analysis.

The White Witch looked him over, suspiciously. "If you are not human, then what are you?"

The Doctor blew a breath out of his cheeks. "Um, lost?" he said. "Think I took a bit of a wrong turn. You see, I was supposed to be in the English Countryside on Earth, round about the early 1940's, and the next thing I knew, I was in the middle of… well, all this." He gestured around him. "Still, I suppose I can talk. Three days ago, it was Christmas in London, and I was chasing around a woman in a wedding dress, trying to save her from being eaten by giant spiders. So, well, showing up randomly on another planet with talking creatures isn't really that far out of my normal daily operations."

The Doctor was watching the White Witch as he spoke, noticing the way she reacted to every word. In a world with so many Earth customs, where cats wore hats and aprons and spoke with London accents, he was surprised at the lack of comprehension in the White Witch's face when he mentioned wedding dresses and spiders.

"You're not from this world," she said.

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Neither are you," he replied.

The White Witch gave him a hard stare. "You speak too freely, human," she said.

The Doctor ran a hand through his hair. "How many times do I have to say it? Not human. First Donna runs around calling me a Martian, and now you lot keep calling me a 'Son of Adam'. So, little clarification, right off the bat." He pointed at himself. "Not from Earth. Not from Mars. Not from—well, obviously not from here. And not the son of anyone named 'Adam.' In fact, you could say I have rather a thing against Adam. I think he wouldn't be very much pleased to see me again. And…"

"Silence," demanded the White Witch, in that same quiet voice that really got on the Doctor's nerves. This time, his irritation got the better of him, and before he could stop himself, he was talking.

"Oh, silence yourself," he snapped. "I know your type far too well. Always wanting to be in control of everything, because you know that really, you control nothing. Using fear and oppression to ensure loyalty because that's the only way you'll ever receive it. Well, let me make one thing perfectly clear, your witchiness. I do not follow or…"

The White Witch's eyes flared at him, and she raised her staff. The icy blast hit the Doctor full force, spreading across his hands, his legs, his fingers, boring into his eyes and nose, sealing his mouth shut, and then… blackness.


	2. Chapter 2

The Doctor could not see—not with his eyes. But within the ice, he could stretch out his mind and feel something. Hear something. It was a voice—no, a Song. It sounded like the Tardis, that same sweet melody that sang to him in his darkest hours. He had missed feeling the Tardis' song in the back of his mind since he arrived in Narnia. He reached out to the Song, trying to connect with it, but he couldn't find it. It didn't seem to come from any particular direction. Every time he reached to catch it, the Song slid through his fingers. Every time he tried to pinpoint it, the Song seemed to move. It continued to slide away from him, as if trying not to be caught. He reached out with his mind and told the Song that it was okay, he was here to help, but the Song didn't answer. It kept its distance, watching him through the blackness, as if judging his worth.


	3. Chapter 3

The Doctor gave a sudden gasp as light reached his eyes, and he blinked. He was in a very different place, now. It was a large, stone throne room, dark and gloomy, which was lined with ice sculptures of frightened animals. No, not ice sculptures, but live, sentient beings, trapped within an eternal prison of ice. He shivered, as his body thawed. Up until a few seconds ago, he had been one of those ice sculptures. He wondered which of these prisoners he had heard singing in the dark.

At the front of the throne room was a raised platform, and a beautiful icy throne, which was tall and elaborate enough that its back reached half way up the wall. And, of course, seated in this elaborate throne was the White Witch.

She had a self-satisfied smile on her face, and the Doctor frowned. Whatever she was smiling about, he figured it wasn't anything good.

"I know what you are, _Time Lord_ ," she said.

"Ah," said the Doctor, putting his hands in his trouser pockets. There was a growl from his right, and the flash of teeth and claws in his peripheral vision. Slowly, he took his hands back out of his pockets, keeping them in plain sight. "Heard of us, then?"

"I've heard of _you_ ," said the White Witch. "The Oncoming Storm. Time's Champion. The Evergreen Man. Growing up, I heard so many stories, so many legends." She peered at him, examining him closely. "You don't live up to your reputation, do you?"

The Doctor scoffed. "Nine hundred years, and never been beaten yet," he said.

The White Witch seemed amused by this. "Oh, yes," she said. "But the legends tell of a compassionate Doctor. A crusader for justice. A lover of life, surrounded by friends and companions." She smiled an icy, cold smile, one that put the Doctor on edge. "That's not you at all, though, is it? I can taste your mind, Doctor. There is so much darkness in you." She got up, pacing towards him, and the Doctor resisted the urge to flee.

Instead, he met her gaze, evenly.

"I can see your loneliness," said the White Witch. "Your weakness." She stared into his eyes. "Do you really think you can steal my throne from me?"

"You know, they didn't like me very much back on my home planet," said the Doctor, in his usual, nonchalant voice. "Torture, exile, even a public execution. But the worst thing they ever did was try to make me President." He gave her a glare. "Your throne is safe from me. But it's only a matter of time before you lose it. That's what happens when you create a climate of fear and oppression."

The White Witch was not shaken by his words. She still wore that cold smile on her face. "And what happened to your home, Doctor? What happened to your friends, your family, everyone on your planet's surface?"

The Doctor paused a moment, trying to keep his emotions hidden. "They're gone," he said.

"Except for you," the White Witch said. "So the rumors are true, after all. The Destroyer of Worlds, they sometimes called you, but they never said the world you destroyed was your own. One of several, so I've heard. Imagine that. Feeling the life squeezed out of a planet. Imagine feeling that kind of power."

The Doctor said nothing.

"I know that feeling," said the White Witch. "I've felt it, too." She stepped a little closer, her gown trailing along the stone floor. "We are very much alike, Doctor. We are both the children of dead worlds, the killers of innocents. We could be so much together. We could have everything."

The Doctor looked down at the red trainers on his feet. He scuffed them along the floor, the squeak of rubber resonating throughout the chamber. Then he did it again, just because he knew it annoyed the White Witch. "You remind me of someone I once knew," he said.

The White Witch paused, folding her arms across her chest.

"A friend," said the Doctor. "Or he used to be, at any rate. When we were children. But as he grew older, he felt he needed more power, more control. He destroyed civilizations, wiped out timelines, allied himself with monsters. And of course, I was always there to stop him. He thought of it as a game—and whenever he could use one of my companions against me, he got bonus points." The Doctor looked up at her. "That's what I am to you. Bonus points. You know who sent me here. You think they sent me here to stop you. You want to turn their own game against them."

"How dare you?" demanded the White Witch.

"Who is it, then?" asked the Doctor. "Who sent me here? Flying monkeys? A talking lion? A scuba-diving zebra?"

The White Witch tensed as the Doctor said the bit about the talking lion. The Doctor raised his eyebrows.

"Lion it is, then," said the Doctor.

The White Witch raised her staff, and the Doctor felt an icy breeze stab into his chest, squeezing the air out of his lungs and paralyzing his respiratory bypass system. When the pain subsided, he found himself on the floor, coughing and panting for air, his hands wrapped around his torso.

He heard the sharp click of heels upon the stone floor, and felt a cold hand run through his hair.

"I like you, Doctor," said the White Witch. "But you are too much like the wild beasts who inhabit this kingdom. You must be tamed."

The Doctor gave a brittle laugh. "Been tried before," he said.

She ruffled his hair, and he could feel icicles settle on his scalp. With a strength he wasn't sure he had, he pulled away, and climbed back to his feet.

The White Witch stood up straight and tall, so that they were eye to eye once more. Then, she gave him that same cold smile from earlier. "You must be hungry," she said. She waved over at an empty table to her right, where dwarves were stumbling around, bringing food and hot cups of tea. "Eat, Doctor. Make yourself comfortable. You are an honored guest here."

"Oh, you must think I'm thick," said the Doctor. "Prophecies and lions and oak trees and the Queen's English, and you really think that you can just offer me a pomegranate seed and think I won't work it out?"

The White Witch gave him a dark look. The Doctor knew, from the look on her face, that the White Witch didn't have the first clue what he was talking about. But, of course, she would never admit that.

The Doctor shrugged. "Prosephone? Hades? Nothing? Blimey, it's like I'm not even speaking the same language anymore." He gave her a charming grin. "You really don't know anything about humans, do you? You thought I was human, and you can read my psychic energy signature like a book. Have you ever even met a human before?"

The White Witch was openly glaring at him, now. "I've been to Earth," she snapped. "A useless planet filled with weak-minded, feeble individuals."

"You mean that the humans weren't as big pushovers as you thought?" asked the Doctor. He studied her face, carefully. "No, it's more than that. Earth frightened you, didn't it? I can see it in your eyes. Just the name is enough to send shivers up your spine." The Doctor felt a smile creep across his face, as he put the pieces together. "This isn't just about the prophecy. You don't like humans because you've seen what they're capable of. They're curious, stubborn little creatures, and they don't take things lying down. They're stronger than you."

The White Witch lunged at him, this time clasping her hands around his throat and sinking her nails into his neck. His respiratory bypass system was still recovering from before, so he found himself sinking beneath her grip.

She let go.

He toppled back onto the floor, and he could feel the sting of her nails as if they were still there. He tried to speak, but no words came out.

"What should I do with you, Doctor?" mused the White Witch. She tapped her fingers along the tip of her staff. His blood shone red beneath her fingernails. "You're far too handsome to be turned to stone. Too dangerous to be allowed to live, but too useful to die. You could be the answer to all my problems. Or you could be the cause of my downfall. I don't usually take chances, Doctor, but you—I think you might be worth the risk."

The Doctor tried to answer, but his voice failed him again. The White Witch didn't seem to mind.

"I suppose it's time I had another little project," said the White Witch. "I haven't had one of those since I left Charn. How would you like to be my new project, Time Lord? My new secret weapon?"

"I don't take orders from you," wheezed the Doctor.

The White Witch raised an eyebrow. "Well, that will have to change," she said, and with a wave of her staff, the Doctor felt his entire body sinking back into ice.


	4. Chapter 4

He heard it again. That singing, like the song of the universe, like the movement of time, coursing through his mind. But he could hear it more clearly now, and he heard it sing of captivity and loneliness. It was a Song that tried to fill the blackness, a Song that was smothered by a complex series of psionic locks and mental doors.

 _Hello?_ called the Doctor, into the blackness. _Can you hear me?_

The Song paused, and then seemed to disappear again.

 _Wait!_ cried the Doctor. _I don't want to hurt you. I want to help._

The Song came back, bit by bit, note by note, treading lightly towards him. The Doctor let it come, let it edge nearer and nearer. He opened up his mind to it, invited it inside, letting it work him out as if it were trying to piece together a very complicated puzzle. When it finally left his mind, the Song seemed stronger, sadder, more honest.

 _You're a prisoner,_ said the Doctor. And then he remembered where he was, and sighed. _I suppose I am, too._

He finally let the impossibility of his situation sink in. Even if he escaped, his Tardis was back on 20th century Earth. And since he couldn't work out how he'd gotten to Narnia in the first place, there was little hope he'd work out a way to get back. He felt himself sinking further into the icy darkness. Even if he got back, what was there left for him?

Rose was gone.

He felt a terrible, lonely emptiness in his hearts. She was gone, and he would never see her again. He reached out, instinctively, for the connection to the Tardis in his mind, hoping it would comfort him—but the Tardis was gone, too. He was alone, so alone, in this darkness.

He felt the psychic equivalent of a hand on his shoulder.

It was the other prisoner, the Song—but its melody was no longer so sad and desolate. It sang of hope, of love, of courage. It sang as if to light the Doctor's way, and the Doctor felt grateful.

Outside of his mind, the ice was melting—he was beginning to feel his physical body again. He tried to hold on a little longer.

_I'll get you out,_ said the Doctor. _I promise._

And the Song gave him one word—a name for his captor.

 _Jadis_.


	5. Chapter 5

The Doctor gasped again, the light hitting his eyes and nearly blinding him. He blinked, and realized he was still on the floor. He must have been frozen while he was lying down. He squinted through the light. He was, once again, somewhere new—but not quite where he'd expected to be. He had expected to wind up in the dungeons, or maybe locked away in some sort of prison cell.

Instead, he was in a room, and rather a large one, at that. The walls and floors were made of ice, although most of the ice was riddled with impurities to the point where the walls were almost opaque. One wall, however, on the far side of the room, was completely transparent. Was this a display case, perhaps? Was he now a museum exhibit? Wouldn't be the first time. Just beside him was a white, comfy couch, and to one side of the transparent wall was a large double bed—also completely white. He rolled over, and felt a stinging sensation around his neck. He groaned. He'd forgotten about that.

"Up already, I see?" asked the White Witch. "You recover quickly, Time Lord."

"Jadis," said the Doctor. His voice still sounded scratchy. He got to his feet, coughing to clear his throat. He noticed her body tense as he said the name. "Jadis of Charn."

"How did you know that?" Jadis demanded.

The Doctor gave a tired smile. "You told me," he said. "Just before you put me on ice." The smile dripped to the ground. "What happened to Charn?"

"What happened to Gallifrey?" Jadis replied.

"Ah," said the Doctor. "Gone, then. No survivors."

"None but myself."

"You sound almost proud of that."

Jadis shrugged. "It was what had to happen," she said. "I had no choice."

The Doctor regarded her, grimly. "I had a choice," he said. "So did you. I know what I did."

"And would you do it again?" asked Jadis.

The Doctor paused. His eyes dropped down to the floor. "Yes," he admitted.

"As would I," said Jadis. She came up to him, putting a hand on his arm. It burned icy cold against his skin. "We are the same, you and I." She moved her hand up to stroke his cheek. "We both have so much blood on our hands."

The Doctor caught her hand. "I didn't want to survive," he said. "I'm not proud of what I did."

"I suppose you'll tell me you did it for all the right reasons," said Jadis. "As if there is any right reason for destroying a planet."

The Doctor dropped her hand, and stepped back. He said nothing.

Jadis gave a proud half smile. "They told me I was nothing, that I would amount to nothing," she said, but as she spoke her pride flaked away like old paint, revealing the desperation that lay beneath her words. "All those rules and regulations. They called me a renegade. They fought me every step of the way. But I showed them, didn't I? In the end, they're all dead, and I'm all that's left. The Last Empress of Charn! Where are all their rules and regulations now, Doctor? I can do anything I want, and who will stop me?"

"You're lonely," the Doctor realized. He felt a sudden wave of sadness flood him as he looked at her, someone so like him and yet so different. "You're just like that Isolus that Rose found. You keep reaching out for more and more because in the end, you know that you have nobody."

Jadis's eyes flared with anger, and she pointed her staff at the Doctor, who fell backwards, a burning sensation searing in the back of his eyes as his world toppled sideways.

"You _are_ a time sensitive," she said, as the world came back into focus. "Take time away from you, and it burns." She examined her staff. "I've never really thought much of this sort of time-related magic, but you seem to have opened up new possibilities."

"Still trying to break me?" asked the Doctor.

"I am punishing bad behavior," said Jadis, disinterestedly. "And likewise, I will reward good behavior." She gestured to the table beside her, where a hot meal had been set out.

The Doctor shook his head. "And what if I don't want your rewards?"

"Then you will starve," said Jadis.

The Doctor just gave her another sympathetic look. "You won't kill me, Jadis," he said. "It would be like killing a bit of yourself."

Jadis raised her staff threateningly at the Doctor, waiting for him to cower in fear. But the Doctor did not move. He matched her gaze, evenly.

"I'm sorry, Jadis," he said. "I am so, so sorry."

Jadis darted forwards, her eyes blazing. The Doctor prepared himself for some sort of physical assault. Jadis grabbed at his suit jacket, hoisted him up against the wall with a loud bang, and then bent in and kissed him.

It was a hard, hungry kiss, a bruising, dominating kiss, the kind of kiss that told the Doctor that she was taking what she wanted, and there was nothing he could do about it. It was so completely unexpected that, for a moment, the Doctor was too shocked to fight back.

He pushed her away, and she backhanded him across the face.

"You're mine, now, Doctor," growled Jadis. "I own you. I can take you any time I want."

The Doctor could feel a frisson of fear crawl down his spine. And although he squashed it as soon as he realized it was there, Jadis must have seen a spark of that fear in his eyes. She had a predatory smile on her face, and the Doctor didn't like it one bit.

As she leant in again, he managed to get her off balance, and ran to the other side of the room. He was wary of her now, not sure what to expect. Jadis got up off the floor, and there was such anger and loathing in her eyes, the Doctor braced himself for the worst.

Instead, Jadis broke out into a smile. It was a cold, malicious smile. "Now I see how I can tame you," she said. "You don't want power or riches or comfort. You want freedom. You're like a bird; you long to fly." Her pale blue eyes bore into him. "But you can't fly away, my pretty bird. I've clipped your wings. You'll never fly again."

The Doctor felt as if the walls of the room were closing in on him. He gritted his teeth, and tried to stay strong. "Heard that one before," he said.

She clearly didn't buy it. She was walking to one of the walls, and knocked her staff against its surface. A door popped forth, swinging open at her command. "Just remember that, my Doctor. I own you. Your days of freedom are at an end."

And then she left him. All alone.


	6. Chapter 6

Of course, he had to escape. That was what the Doctor did. He got into sticky situations, and then he escaped. He was buzzing at the walls with his sonic screwdriver, trying different settings and frequencies, hoping that if he got just the right pitch, the ice would shatter. But this ice didn't appear to be normal ice. It didn't ever seem to shatter. Nor did it ever seem to melt.

If he ever met Kurt Vonnegut again, he'd have to tell him about this.  
The Doctor did, after much diligent and careful work, manage to get the door open. He beamed. "Easy peasy!" he said, and strode out of the room.  
He got to the end of the hallway before he ran into something that looked suspiciously like a Nimon. The Nimon-ish character was not pleased to see him. He ran, the Nimon chased him, and then Jadis showed up, and it was only a matter of time before he found himself back in the room.

Jadis had changed the locks, of course, but that didn't matter to the Doctor. After a few hours, he got the door open again. But Jadis had been more careful this time, and the Doctor found himself thrown back against the floor.

"Genetic lock," he muttered.

It took him a half a day to break it.

He was more careful while sneaking around the castle the second time. But then he found a statue that wasn't actually a statue, and wound up being chased by some troll thing, and soon afterwards, Jadis found him, and he was back inside the room.

Only this time, he didn't have his sonic screwdriver. Apparently, Jadis had gotten wise.

He started going through the things in his pockets. Bits of string, some copper wire, a tea pot (still full of tea—how had that gotten in there?), several bananas, a bag of very stale looking Jelly Babies, a tennis ball, 12 denarii, a credit stick from the planet Epinol, a detector that he'd made to look for possible cracks between universes, three pencils, seven pieces of sidewalk chalk, the Tardis key, and his psychic paper.

Munching on some of the Jelly Babies, the Doctor examined the detector. It was his best hope of getting out of there, but if he took it apart—what if he missed something? What if he was somehow able to get Rose back, and he missed his chance because he was stuck here in Narnia? But, of course, even if it did go off, there was nothing he could do about it now. He had no Tardis—he couldn't just swoop in and get her.

No hope of getting back to Rose. 

The realization felt worse than any torture Jadis could have devised for him. He looked at the detector, trying to will himself to take it apart. Then he blinked.

The detector was giving him the strangest reading he had ever seen. It was as if… no, that couldn't be right. It was almost as if he weren't in the real universe at all.

He took a sip of the tea in the teapot, and popped some more stale Jelly Babies into his mouth. Another universe. The idea was simply ludicrous. He was sure he would have noticed if he'd travelled across the void. But what if…

He stared at the detector some more, trying to make sense of the readings and all that he'd seen. This other universe, if that was indeed what it was, had heard of him—that's what Jadis had said. She said she'd heard of him before. She even knew the name of his home planet, and most people in his own universe didn't know that. Stranger still was the strong connection this place seemed to have to Earth. Specifically, to England. He looked over at the table where Jadis had laid out his meal. Sure enough, there was a cup of tea. There was no Earth in this universe, but there was tea, and there were Earth animals and Earth plants, and everyone spoke the Queen's English.

Perhaps it was some sort of pocket universe, tucked away in a fold of one of the higher dimensions? The Doctor knew that given enough technology, it would be simple to link the two universes together via an inter-dimensional gateway. The Doctor felt a smile crawl up his face. He was betting some gateway existed, linking the two universes, and he was betting the gateway led back to Earth. If he could just get out of here and find the gateway, he'd be able to get back to his Tardis.

Then he remembered the Cat out in the forest, and all of the poor people who had been trapped as ice sculptures. He remembered the Song that he had heard in the darkness. He gave a small sigh. Who was he kidding? He couldn't just leave Narnia the way it was. He was the Doctor. It was his job to make things better.

He felt a sudden sharp tingle in the back of his mind, and he looked up. There, behind the transparent wall, stood Jadis, staring at him. She did not look pleased. Apparently, chasing after him for the better part of the day had not been her idea of fun. He gave her his most innocent grin, and she raised her staff, and blasted him back into ice.


	7. Chapter 7

_Are you there?_ asked the Doctor.

The Song came to him right away now, recognizing the illumination of his mind in the darkness. It felt so much like the Tardis that its very presence soothed him. Its very existence kept him from diving into the darker thoughts and memories of his own mind.

The Doctor thought about this. There must be many beings that were frozen or turned to stone. Why was this the only voice he could hear? This universe had a strong link with Earth, and 20th century Earth species did not have telepathic abilities. Perhaps this was another stranger. Another traveler trapped in Jadis' spell.

 _I know what it's like to be alone,_ said the Doctor. He gave a small sigh. _She knows, too. Perhaps she's right. Perhaps we are the same._

But the song seemed to wrap around the Doctor, just as the Tardis had after the war. It played away the bad memories, vanquished the Dalek fleets from his mind, distracted him from the memory of Rose that still tore at his hearts. It played him away from the despair that lurked in his soul—the despair that reminded him so much of Jadis.

 _You are not the same,_ the Song seemed to say. _You will never be the same._

 _You say that now,_ said the Doctor. _But if you knew me outside of the blackness, you would be able to see what I really am._

 _And so would you,_ said the Song.


	8. Chapter 8

When the Doctor came to, his things were gone. He scrambled around, looking for something, but there was nothing left. Everything had been taken from him. Even the Tardis key.

He buried his face in his hands, and took a long, shaky breath. Perhaps it was for the best that the Tardis hadn't come here. Jadis was enough trouble on Narnia. He couldn't imagine what kind of havoc she could wreak if she were to get her hands on a time machine.

"Looking for something?" asked Jadis.

The Doctor didn't even bother to turn around. He knew exactly what kind of expression she'd be wearing on her face. He knew exactly how she'd be standing, exactly how her gown would drag along the icy floor. It made him feel sick.

He felt a hand in his hair, and jerked away, suddenly on his feet. "Don't you dare, Jadis," said the Doctor.

Jadis' expression grew serious. "I told you that I owned you," she said. "I don't need to ask. I just need to take."

Now the Doctor really did feel sick. She leapt at him, and he dove out of the way. He was expecting her to try again, but she just gave him her normal, twisted smile, and revealed the small key in her hand.

"The key to your time machine, isn't it?" she asked. She closed her hand over it, and the key seemed to vanish into thin air.

"Not like it helps either one of us," said the Doctor. "It's in another universe."

A flicker of disappointment passed through her eyes. Then she shrugged. "I don't really care about the past," said Jadis. "Or the future. All I care about is the here and now."

The Doctor leaned against the icy wall, hands in his now-empty pockets. "Don't care about the future, Jadis? Don't make me laugh."

Jadis stiffened at his words. "There is nothing in the future that can destroy me," she said.

"Really?" asked the Doctor. "Four empty thrones at Cair Paravel, wasn't it? Just four little humans can undo everything that you've so carefully put together. And doesn't that just terrify you?"

He was expecting her to fly into a rage at this, but she just stood there, staring at him, pointedly.

"Ah," said the Doctor. "So that's why I'm really here. You don't know anything about humans. But I do. Without my help, you're doomed to fail."

"I know plenty about humans," said Jadis.

The Doctor raised his eyebrows. "Could have fooled me."

Jadis clenched her jaw, and said nothing. She was clearly trying to restrain herself from lashing out at him. The Doctor noted the restraint with interest. She had never restrained herself before. Apparently, it wasn't _just_ that he knew about humans. Jadis had spies throughout Narnia, and if the Cat he'd met earlier was any indication, those spies would know and recognize the coming humans well enough. No, there was something else that Jadis needed from him, something that only he could offer. Something, he suspected, that was far worse.

"Well, go on," said the Doctor. "You're clearly keeping me around for something. What is it?"

"The prophecy is a part of the Deep Magic that holds Narnia together," said Jadis. "The 'Deep Magic' is from the Dawn of Time. It is linked to Time. The two are bound so closely together that they are nearly one and the same. And for that reason, no magician can touch them. Not even I. I can fiddle with personal time, as you have seen. But not even I can change the course of history." She stared at the Doctor, expectantly. "But then, I'm not a Time Lord."

"Ah," said the Doctor. He was beginning to get a bad feeling about this. He might not be familiar with the terms she was using, but any magic sophisticated enough was indistinguishable from technology—he knew that far too well. 'Deep Magic'—he might not know the term offhand, but it was obvious which temporal equation it referred to. Yes, this was certainly bad. The more the Doctor's brain flashed through the computations, the more he could see that what Jadis was asking for was well within his abilities. He wouldn't even need the Tardis to do it. He increased his psychic defenses tenfold, locking the information she needed away so that even she would never find it. "And you think I'm just going to help you subvert this 'Deep Magic'… why, exactly?"

"You don't want me dead, Doctor," said Jadis. "You want me to be redeemable. I can see it in your eyes. If I'm redeemable, you're redeemable. If I deserve to die for my crimes, then what do you deserve? You, who have committed my one crime so many times over?" Jadis clenched her jaw. "If the prophecy comes true, I will die, Doctor."

The Doctor gave Jadis a sad, thoughtful look. "You're right," he said. "I don't want you to die. You have so much potential, Jadis. You're brilliant. You are an accomplished psychic. You have the ability to bring so much goodness into the world."

"I don't care about bringing goodness into the world," said Jadis. "My world is dead. Narnia is the only thing I have left."

The Doctor thought for a moment. "Come with me," he said.

Jadis was taken aback. "What?"

"Come with me," the Doctor repeated. "Leave Narnia, end the winter, let all these people go, and come with me. Back to my universe, back to my Tardis, to travel through space and time. I recognize the way you walk and talk. Your lot were just like my lot—stuffy and pretentious, taking the fun out of everything and turning life into some sort of errand. Let me show you the universe. Let me show you how beautiful it can be. I can show you the flowers of Florana, the ice-covered waves of Woman Wept, the luminous landscapes of Narleph Due. We can see supernovas and black holes; we can watch planets form and soar through nebulas. You've seen so much death; it's time you saw what it's like to live."

Jadis stared at him, and for a moment, all of her barriers dropped. He could see the hunger in her eyes—that same hunger he'd had as a boy, that need for change and excitement. He could see the loneliness that haunted her, the pain and pride of her actions, the resentment that she felt—both towards herself, and the rest of the universe. For that moment, it seemed there was nothing Jadis wanted more than to come with him. For that moment, the Doctor thought she'd accept.

She blinked, and the moment was gone. The mask was set back in place. She turned to the Doctor. "Is that what you told your friend?" she asked. "The one I remind you of?"

The Doctor took a long, controlled breath. "Yes," he admitted.

Jadis considered his posture, and the tension that had clearly sprung up in his spine. "You killed him, didn't you?"

"I didn't mean to," said the Doctor.

"And that makes it okay?" said Jadis.

"No," the Doctor admitted. "Nothing could make it okay." He looked up at Jadis. "He was trying to kill me at the time, you know. Kill me and take over my body. Typical. I think he must have spent half his life setting traps for me. The Rani always said he was obsessed."

The Doctor noticed Jadis' hands shaking as they held her golden staff.

"But that's the trouble with those sorts of enemies," continued the Doctor, more pointedly. "Their lives revolve so exclusively around you that when they're gone, you don't feel triumphant. You just feel… empty."

"I wouldn't know," Jadis said, her voice a little too hard.

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. "Wouldn't you?" he asked. He folded his arms across his chest and mouthed the words, "talking Lion."

Jadis nearly threw her staff forwards as she blasted the air out of the Doctor's lungs. He doubled up, hacking and coughing as he crumpled to the floor. The ice below stuck to his fingers, sucking at his skin like a colony of leaches.

"I told you never to mention him," snarled Jadis.

The Doctor tried to catch his breath. "That's what this is all about, isn't it?" he said. "It's a trap for your Lion friend. You took over his world, killed all his friends, and turned his beloved homeland into a frozen tundra. You figure he's got to notice at some point. You caught him yet?"

Jadis threw a ball of temporal distortion at the Doctor that raked across his mind like nails across a chalk board. He gritted his teeth, and forced his scream to transform into a scratchy laugh.

"He didn't take the bait, did he?" asked the Doctor through the hoarse, brittle laughter. "You set the perfect trap, and he wouldn't give you the time of day! Oh, that's brilliant. You're going to fight and lose this battle without ever getting a glimpse of your adversary."

"I have him right where I want him," snapped Jadis. "He's out of the way."

The Doctor felt the temporal distortion dissipating. He got to his hands and knees, his limbs feeling a bit wobbly beneath him. "It bothers you, doesn't it, Jadis, taking over the world when there's no one around to watch?"

He looked up, and saw a shadow pass across Jadis' face—the shadow of a sorrow deep enough to match his own. She looked as if she could see the words that he had spoken living before her eyes, watching her own past unfold inside of every syllable. For the first time, the Doctor could see every bit of his own pain and loss reflected in Jadis. A string of telepathic thought echoed in the frozen air between them…

_It's an empty victory, when no one's alive to notice._

She looked over at him, and he could see a world dying in those pale blue eyes—the crumbling and decaying buildings, the smell of decomposing flesh in the streets, the complete and utter silence in the air. He wondered if she could see the flames of Gallifrey reflected in his own eyes.

She clutched her staff a little tighter, until her knuckles turned almost transparent, and her mask fell back in place. "I won't come with you, Doctor," she said, in that same calm, demanding tone that had so irked the Doctor back in the woods. "There is nothing worthwhile out there."

The click of Jadis' heels against the ice echoed through the room, as she turned towards the door. The Doctor climbed to his feet, the ice tearing at the flesh on his hands.

"I don't do second chances, Jadis," said the Doctor.

Jadis paused in the doorway, looking over her shoulder. "Neither do I," she said, and left.

She didn't even seem to notice that it was a lie.


	9. Chapter 9

It was a little over a week before the Doctor began to feel the effects of his starvation. He wasn't human, so he knew it wasn't as bad for him, but he had to admit that every day, the food on that table was becoming more and more tempting.

It was replaced daily, often with something that was more to the Doctor's taste. The day they had a banana split sundae covered with hot fudge sauce, he nearly caved in. But he knew better than that. If this were anything like the Earth myths, the moment he ate the food, he'd never be able to leave. And he certainly wanted freedom more than any banana split sundae.

He escaped only a few times more, always unsuccessfully. His most successful plan to date was when he managed to override every lock in the castle, and set off every alarm all at once. He actually made it outside, that time, and felt the cool chill of the night air brushing across his face.

Then he saw the statues.

In the throne room, the statues had all been ice. Here, they were made of stone. He could see the countenance of every petrified animal and creature, their terrified and determined expressions stark shadows against the white snow. He could feel the pain and suffering in the air, woven so thick that he could scarcely breathe. He put a hand on the head of a petrified fox, and tried to find some sign that it was still alive—that any of these creatures were still alive. But there was nothing. No brain activity, no lingering consciousness. It was simply stone. The Doctor shuddered. Everyone here was dead. It was a graveyard.

"They are beautiful, don't you think?"

The Doctor tensed at the sound of her voice. He tried to run, but his feet would not move. He looked down, and discovered the reason why. His feet had been frozen to the ground. He sighed, and hung his head in defeat.

"Jadis," he said.

Jadis came over to him, her gown still trailing along the stone pathway. She gazed, lovingly, at all the petrified creatures surrounding them. "They are my creations, Doctor. My art. Don't you like them?"

"Art?" exclaimed the Doctor. "They're dead, Jadis. They're all dead." He felt his fists clench by his sides. "You killed them."

Jadis paused, as if to consider his words. "No, you're right," she said. "Not art. Trophies. A sign of my accomplishment. A reminder to my people of what will happen if they betray me."

The Doctor took a shaky breath, and glared at her. "How many more are there, Jadis?" he demanded. "How many more gardens of statues? How many more graveyards have you filled to satisfy this twisted fantasy of yours?"

Jadis leaned in, ruffling his hair. "Nowhere near your own tally, Time Lord," she whispered.

The White Witch seized him by the arms and began to haul him away, back to his prison. The Doctor looked up into her eyes, at her cold, calculating expression, and just like that, he knew. This was her warning to him, her threat. Jadis had let him escape, let him get outside, just so she could show him what would happen if he did not cooperate. And he _could not_ cooperate. He understood, now. This was his fate. Some day, he would be the centerpiece in her sculpture garden. The ultimate trophy.

He remembered seeing the statue of Rose in the British Museum, remembered that feeling of desperation and hopelessness as he thought he'd never get her back. What would she think, finding him here? Would it be the same for her as it was for him, realizing that there was nothing left but a cold, empty shell where once there had been a person? He wondered if she'd ever be able to forgive him for getting her into this mess.

Then he remembered Rose was gone.

As the White Witch led him back inside—as he saw the last speck of sky disappear behind the closing wooden doors — the Doctor was gripped with the realization that now that he had seen those statues, she would never let him leave the castle. While he was still alive, he'd never again see the night sky, never again feel the rotation of another planet, never again hear the Tardis in his mind…

Never again feel Rose's hand in his. Never again hear her laughter. Never again look into her hazel eyes and see that love there, that excitement and compassion, that beautiful spark that was Rose.

He felt himself fracturing like broken glass.

The days he was locked in the room drew together into a sort of monotony, and every day, he thought he fractured a little more. The Doctor spoke to no one except Jadis during this time, and his contact with her was never pleasant.

Sometimes, he spotted Jadis through the transparent wall, leading terrified-looking creatures past his window. She pointed at him, explaining him as if he were an animal on display in a zoo. She listed his many crimes as if she were a teacher lecturing her students.

And then there were the times when Jadis felt lonely, and her loneliness turned to lust. The Doctor was getting good at dodging her, but she was getting better at pinning him down. And after she left, he would apply himself more vigorously to finding a way out, because he wasn't sure how he'd be able to stand another day locked away with that madwoman.

Not that she'd ever let him out again. She was far too clever for that.

Most often, she would come in to "tame" him, as if he were some kind of wild beast. She would provoke him to say something flippant, and then she would punish him with physical violence if he took the bait. And being the Doctor, he always took the bait. And then retaliated, not with violence, but with words. He'd always been good with words. But Jadis knew his weak spot. Gallifrey. It was only a matter of time before she started in on the topic. About the War, about how many innocents he had killed, about how she could destroy the whole of Narnia and the whole of Charn and still not come close to his death count. It always stung, because every time she said it, he knew more and more that she was right.

And yet, while these carefully calculated torments were certainly uncomfortable and definitely unpleasant, they were not what was breaking him apart. Every day, he knew it more and more. Jadis was not the one destroying him. He was doing that to himself.

It was those long, endless stretches, when he was alone. When he was swallowed by memories, by sorrow, by pain, by everything he had been running away from for far too long. He needed… oh, how many things he needed, and how impossible it was to get any of them! A good cup of tea. His sonic screwdriver. Rose. The Tardis. Freedom. Or perhaps it was only that he needed _something_ to be his again.

More than that, he needed someone. A hand to hold, a friendly smile, a voice in the dark. Someone to pull him out of the shadows of his mind, someone to scare away the phantoms that Jadis' visits always dredged up. But the more he was pulled down inside himself, the more he knew that he would never find that someone. He would never escape this castle, because he could never escape himself.

The Doctor's only solace was when he sent himself into a trance and could hear that Song again—but it was so much fainter outside of the ice. He didn't want Jadis to freeze him; he never knew whether or not she'd leave him that way for good. But it was difficult, being alone without the Song to comfort him. In his trances, he could not talk to the Song, could not let it completely soothe his mind or eliminate his fears. But he could listen to it, and remember. And he could think.

He did a lot of thinking, when he wasn't tearing himself to pieces. Thinking about this new universe, about this new world, about the eternal winter and his fellow prisoners and all those beings still alive out there, starving. He thought about the gateway. Based on what he knew about the prophecy, and the structure of Narnia, it didn't seem likely that it was always open. After all, he hadn't come through the gateway, and whatever or whoever had brought him here would hardly have expended all that energy if the Doctor could have walked to Narnia himself.

Perhaps it was when the gateway opened that the prophecy would take place. Perhaps there was some temporal shift that aligned the two worlds at certain points. He wished he could remember what the universal pathway detector had shown him, before Jadis had taken it away.

He thought about Jadis, too. How alone she was. Those times when she let her guard down. He wondered what had happened to her world. Why she had destroyed Charn, and how she ended up in Narnia. She had dropped more hints in their conversations—hints of a war that made the rivers of her world run with blood. Had her choice been like his? Had she destroyed Charn for the right reasons? Her words from earlier reverberated through his mind: _as if there is any right reason for destroying a planet._

The Doctor shivered. He remembered the anger and pain in Jadis' voice when she spoke of her childhood. So much like his own. Had _he_ destroyed Gallifrey for the right reasons? He thought he had. But every time he saw Jadis, he wondered more and more. Did a part of him revel in the revenge? When he was preparing to use the Moment, was a bit of him pushing for it, pushing him to punish the Time Lords who kept making a mess of his lives?

The way that Jadis ordered the Doctor about, using that calm, demanding tone of voice—it was so much like Lord Rassilon, his cold, soft and yet powerful voice pouring across the console in the Doctor's Tardis. He could almost hear it again, now, in his memory—those carefully sculpted words, the smooth, taunting phrases. He had felt that same irritation, that same anger, in those seconds before he used the Moment to destroy Gallifrey. He'd been so sure that it was the right thing to do. But what if he'd been wrong? What if he had overlooked some other option, blinded by revenge and childhood irritations? What if Jadis was right about him?

The Doctor shuddered. He knew that Jadis scared him—more than Rassilon, more than the Daleks, more than even the Master—because he recognized what he saw in her. It was the same thing he saw in himself, during his darker moments.

He wondered how long it would take before the darker moments consumed him.

_I can't fix this,_ he confessed to the Song. He didn't think that the song could hear him, but he went on, anyways. _I couldn't fix Skaro. I couldn't fix Gallifrey. And I can't fix Narnia. I'm falling apart, bit by bit, and this time, there's no Rose to pull me back. But I made you a promise, and I'm going to keep it. If I do nothing else, I'm going to make sure that someone gets out of this alive._

The Song hesitated a moment, as if straining to hear him, and the Doctor projected as much hope and faith and good-will out towards the Song as he could. The Song began singing again, lulling the Doctor to sleep.


	10. Chapter 10

The Witch had clearly worked out what the Doctor's universal pathway detector was, and what it was for, because she knew the moment the gateway to Earth had opened. The Doctor knew it, too, because the White Witch stormed into his room and immediately launched a ball of temporal distortion at his head, without provocation. When he had recovered, he found himself slumped against the floor, Jadis standing over him.

"You will help me," she demanded.

The Doctor didn't answer her, just looked confused. The time distortion was still making his brain muggy. She gave an exasperated sigh, and slapped him across the face.

"Help me destroy the humans," she growled.

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. "It's open?" He beamed. "Oh, Jadis. Your days are numbered now, and you know it."

She smacked him again. "You said you didn't want me to die."

"I also said I didn't give second chances."

Jadis picked him up and threw him against the wall. The weeks without food had taken their toll, and the Doctor fell, his legs and arms tangled together as he dropped to the floor. But the Doctor was thinking lightning fast. He knew it was only a matter of time, now, before she killed him. If he refused to prevent the prophecy, there was no real reason for him to remain alive, and even if her guilt was preventing her from killing him now, it was only a matter of time before Jadis gave in to her rage. The Doctor's number was finally up. He was dead already—he just needed to find a way to free his friend before Jadis struck the final blow. If he could do nothing else, he could save one person.

But he couldn't reach the Song in his trances. He couldn't even see the locks and doors that were confining it. He needed to get Jadis to freeze him again. It was the only way he could do any good.

"I own you, Doctor," said Jadis. "You will do as I say!"

"Bet you said that to your Lion friend, didn't you?" said the Doctor, and he shot her his cheekiest grin.

Sure enough, it was only seconds later that he felt himself encased in ice.

* * *

He knew what to look for this time. Jadis was distracted, scanning the forests for humans, but his friend was just as strong as ever. The Doctor felt through the layers of psychic resonance that he was stranded in. He was looking for some kind of lock he could pick. A hatch he could undo. He kept twisting and shifting about, trying to make out the shape of his friend's prison, trying to work out all the little fiddly bits and how they fit together.

And just… there! He found the lock, felt the way it tingled in the different sections of his mind. Given how many times he'd found himself in prison cells, he was quite a dab hand at picking locks, and even with this one being psychic, he still managed to work it out pretty fast. There was a sudden feeling as if he were flying through the air, as he threw the last bolt and released his friend from prison.

_Run! Run away! Be free!_ cried the Doctor, as he felt the Song brush across his face, like a breath of fresh air.

The Song stopped, and seemed to look back at him.

_She'll never keep me alive,_ said the Doctor. _Sooner or later—sooner, most likely—she's going to finish me off. And perhaps that's for the best. She and I—what we have done is unforgiveable. Best to just get us out of the way and let the multiverse move on without us._

The Song came forward, as if urging the Doctor to reconsider. But the Doctor shook his head, and gave the Song a psychic pat on the arm. _I know I'm a monster. Rose was wrong, you see. I'm not a good man, not really. But at least, in the middle of all this misery, I was able to help someone._ He felt the Song wrap around his mind, and he pushed it away, gently. _Go, before she sees you,_ he urged. _Just promise me, after I'm gone, that you'll do everything in your power to make this right._

_I promise, my friend,_ sang the Song, with such an honest determination that the Doctor felt he could trust it to follow through.

And suddenly, the Doctor was alone, once again, in the darkness. The Song was gone—his friend was gone. He was left with his own thoughts once more, his own sense of emptiness. Not for long, though. After all, it was only a matter of time before Jadis discovered that one of her prisoners had escaped. And when she did, the Doctor was dead.

Compared to facing a life without Rose, he thought it might be the easier option.


	11. Chapter 11

Mr. Tumnus had been just a normal faun until his life was turned upside down by a little human girl. Now, only a few days after that meeting, he had been hauled off by the Queen. His life was over. It was only a matter of time before he was turned to stone. He was surprised he wasn't stone already, but the Queen must have wanted more information out of him. She had seemed distracted during his interrogation, as if something else was on her mind.

Mr. Tumnus was in bad shape when the ogres threw him into the White Witch's dungeon—he had been beaten, and one of his legs was broken. As he hit the icy ground with his upper body, he could feel the ogres chaining him to the floor, jerking around his bad leg and making him howl.

The White Witch gave an annoyed cough.

Mr. Tumnus looked back at her, but the Witch was not looking at him. She was staring past him, glaring with hatred at something just beyond where Mr. Tumnus was chained. Then she turned, and the ogres followed her out of the room. The door clicked shut, and Mr. Tumnus could hear the deadbolts sliding into place.

"Are you hurt?" came a voice.

Mr. Tumnus started violently, hitting his bad leg against the floor. He moaned in pain.

"Shh, shh, shh," soothed the voice. "Careful with that leg. I'd offer to help, but I'm a bit tied up at the moment."

Mr. Tumnus peered through the gloom. As his eyes adjusted, he could make out a tall man with spiky brown hair, wearing a brown pinstripe suit and a tan trench coat. The man was not simply chained to the wall in the same way that Mr. Tumnus had been chained to the floor—his hands, legs, and neck were all bolted to the wall with manacles thicker than any Mr. Tumnus had ever seen. A series of iron bands pinned his arms and legs together, along with a string of heavy chains. He was surrounded by two sets of metal bars stretching from floor to ceiling—each a different kind of metal—as well as a wall of what looked like shimmering ice.

The man himself looked worse off even than Mr. Tumnus. He was deathly pale, riddled with gashes and bruises, and he looked severely malnourished. Mr. Tumnus shivered.

"What did you do?" he asked.

The prisoner considered. "She didn't really say when she put me in here. I think she was more interested in causing physical pain than in answering questions. But I can guess." The prisoner gave something that looked like it was supposed to be a shrug, but the bars and chains around his arms prevented him from doing so. "I helped someone escape. One of her prisoners. You know what that does to a queen who's used to having her way in everything." He gave a friendly smile. "I'm the Doctor, by the way. And before you ask, not a Son of Adam. Not one of the prophecy." He gave a little sigh, and Mr. Tumnus could see his shoulders slump. "Just someone waiting to die."

"I'm Mr. Tumnus," said Mr. Tumnus.

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Tumnus," said the Doctor. "I wish it were under better circumstances." He gave a wheezing, rasping cough, then tried to make it look as if nothing was wrong with him.

Mr. Tumnus stared at him. "If you don't mind my asking, why hasn't she killed you yet?" he asked. "It isn't like the White Witch to put off an execution."

"I think she's trying to get up the nerve," said the Doctor. "We're very much alike, her and I. I think she believes that if she actually goes through with it and kills me, she'll be killing off the last vestiges of goodness inside of her."

"I didn't think there'd ever been anything good in her," said Mr. Tumnus.

The Doctor gave him a sad smile. "Where there's life, there's hope," he said. He paused for a moment, staring ahead as if looking into time. Mr. Tumnus thought he could see something dull and hopeless in the Doctor's eyes—some terrible loneliness that was eating away at his soul. He looked back at Mr. Tumnus, and tried to hide his pain. "And what are you in here for, fauny boy? Had a bit of a jaunt with a set of pipes? Shoved a donkey's head onto a bad actor?"

Mr. Tumnus gave him a confused look, and the Doctor returned it with a kind smile. Mr. Tumnus cleared his throat. "I… I didn't turn in one of the humans. I knew I was supposed to, but instead, I let her go." He looked down at the ground. "She was just a little kid."

"You did the right thing," said the Doctor. He sighed. "I can't promise I'll get you out of this, but I'll do whatever I can. Just, if you do get out, remember this: you're not alone. My friend, the one I helped escape—he's out there, somewhere, organizing a resistance group. Find him. Help him."

"Who's your friend?" asked Mr. Tumnus.

The Doctor laughed. "I don't even know his name," he said. "But he was lost and alone when I was lost and alone, and he helped me when I was in trouble. I trust him."

"May the Lion protect him," said Mr. Tumnus.

"Yes," said the Doctor, thoughtfully. "I hope he does."

* * *

A few hours later, Mr. Tumnus was given a meager meal of bread crusts and water. The Doctor was given nothing.

"Is she starving you?" asked Mr. Tumnus.

"Sort of," said the Doctor. "You could say I'm starving myself. Not that it really matters anymore." He considered the meal, thoughtfully. "She must be feeling a bit off, today. She doesn't usually feed her prisoners. I think she's only feeding you to play mental games with me."

"How long has it been since you've eaten?"

"Don't really know anymore," said the Doctor. "Time sense is a bit… wobbly in here. See that shimmery ice thing just beyond the bars? It's a temporal exclusion field. I may be talking to you in real time, but in here, it's like time doesn't exist."

"So you could stay alive forever, and never eat anything?" asked Mr. Tumnus.

"Or eat all I want and still feel just as hungry as I am now," said the Doctor.

"Is that why she's built that shimmery wall of ice?" asked Mr. Tumnus. "To keep you alive?"

"I doubt it." The Doctor gritted his teeth. "I'm a time sensitive. And she knows how much it burns when I'm in here."

Mr. Tumnus shivered, and not just from the cold. He didn't feel he could eat any of the food, not now that he knew its purpose. "She's torturing you," he said. He had heard that the White Witch was cruel and merciless, but he'd never thought her sadistic. He swallowed. "All the time?"

"It's not too bad, usually," said the Doctor. "I've gotten used to it, and it beats some of the things she put me through before I wound up down here. It's only when she's really angry or upset that it gets nasty. That's when she comes down herself to do the torturing properly."

"Why does she hate you so much?" asked Mr. Tumnus.

"It's not me she really hates," said the Doctor. "It's herself."

The White Witch and her entourage came into the prison cell a few minutes later. Mr. Tumnus was certain they'd come for him, but the White Witch didn't seem to even notice him. Instead, she swept over to the cage that held her other prisoner, eyeballing him suspiciously. She touched the wall of shimmering ice that surrounded him, and the ice and both sets of metal bars melted away into the ground. The prisoner, still restrained to the wall, met her gaze, evenly. They said nothing for a moment, just looking at one another, each trying to stare the other down.

"You know why I'm here, Doctor," said the White Witch, her eyes not leaving his.

"Yes," said the Doctor. He had a grim expression on his face. "Today's the day, isn't it? You've finally decided to do it."

The White Witch said nothing.

"So what's it to be, then?" asked the Doctor. "A simple beheading, or am I going to join the others in your sculpture garden?"

The White Witch tilted her head, as if considering her options. "I like the idea of preserving you in stone," she said. "It would be the crowning glory of my collection. A testament to my majesty. Jadis, Queen of Narnia: the only one who could best the Doctor." She narrowed her eyes at him. "You know why I have to kill you?"

"Yes," said the Doctor. "Because I helped someone."

The White Witch's fists clenched by her sides, and Mr. Tumnus could see the anger radiating through her. "You let him loose, Doctor," she growled. "Do you understand what that means?"

"I'm sorry, Jadis," said the Doctor. "I had to."

The White Witch regarded him, icily, her fury not abating. After a few long, silent moments, she raised her staff, and all the locks and restraints around the Doctor released at once. The Doctor fell to the ground with a loud thunk. Mr. Tumnus flinched.

"Any last words before you die?" asked the White Witch.

The Doctor looked up at her, a small trail of blood running down his forehead. He smiled.

"Have a nice Spring, Jadis," he said.

And before anyone could stop him, the Doctor jumped to his feet, flinging his arm out and pointing a metal tube at Mr. Tumnus. Mr. Tumnus was about to cry out, half expecting the tube to kill him where he lay, but to his surprise, there was a hum in the air, and the chains around his hands and feet magically came undone. He looked back at the Doctor, intending to thank him, but it was already too late.

All that was left of the Doctor was a lifeless stone statue.

The White Witch was shouting, demanding to know how the Doctor could possibly have managed to get his screwdriver back, and the guards were all busy trying to deny they had anything to do with it. The door was open. Mr. Tumnus got to his feet, and tried to escape. He stumbled, his bad leg causing him to moan with pain, and the action made the White Witch's head turn. Mr. Tumnus put his pain aside and ran as fast as he could. But he knew he'd never make it.

He could already feel himself turning to stone as he crossed the threshold.


	12. Chapter 12

The events that followed are of much historical importance, and are explained at further length in the many chronicles of the Kingdom of Narnia. In short, the four humans—two Sons of Adam and two Daughters of Eve, whose arrival in Narnia had been prophesied in the Deep Magic—met the Lion, Aslan, at the Stone Table and fulfilled their destiny. Together, they fought for Narnia, fought for the freedom of all who lived therein. And, just as was foretold in the Deep Magic, they won. The Long Winter ended, Spring arrived, and Narnia was free once more.

The two Daughters of Eve, Susan and Lucy Pevensie, had thought that Aslan had revived all of the stone and ice statues before the Battle of Beruna. Yet after the battle had ended, it quickly became clear to the two sisters that all was not right. Aslan was prowling through the countryside, sniffing the air as if hunting for something.

"Aslan, what are you looking for?" asked Lucy.

"Someone who helped me, without knowing who or what I was," said Aslan. "Someone who had the courage to release the mental stranglehold that kept me out of the lands of Narnia. And for his efforts, he was turned to stone."

"But surely, this person would have been back with all the others," said Susan. She didn't want to propose to Aslan that his friend might be dead, but she thought it was likely.

"The White Witch feared what would happen if he escaped," said Aslan. "He is everything that she could never be, and she knew it. She would have placed him somewhere she thought no one would find him." Aslan paused, his head tilted, as if he'd found a trace of something in the air. Then he began to run forwards, through the grass, past green trees and newly sprouted flowers. Lucy and Susan chased after him, trying to keep up.

And then, in a dark corner of an abandoned cave, they found a stone statue. Lucy squealed. "It's a man!" she said. "Just a normal, human man!"

Susan examined the statue carefully. It did appear to be an ordinary human man, a little beat up, but still sporting a determined look on his boyish face. He wore a pinstripe suit and a long trench coat, and was positioned as if lunging towards someone in the distance, pointing a small cylindrical object in the unknown person's location. "What is he carrying in his hand?" Susan asked.

Aslan didn't answer her. He put a paw on the man's shoulder. "My poor friend," he said. "You have suffered far too much in the darkness. It is time to come back to the light." And with only a breath, he brought the statue back to life.

The man in the pinstripe suit nearly fell over, but caught himself just in time. He leaned against Aslan's paw, trying to catch his breath. Then his gaze shifted to Aslan, and his eyes widened.

"Blimey," he said. "When they said talking lion, I thought they meant talking lion. I didn't think they meant _you_."

"You know me, then, Doctor?" asked Aslan.

"Oh, yeah, learned about all you big pan-dimensional types back in the nursery." He squeezed the bridge of his nose in thought. "Something with an A… Adam, no, Alron, no…" He suddenly snapped his fingers. "Aslan!" He beamed. "Oh, but that's brilliant! Aslan, one of the Universal Guardians, just like the White and Black Guardians back in my home universe. You were always my favorite, you know that? The renegade of the Universal Guardians! The Guardian who decided to stuff all the rivalry and formality, because he was going to make his own universe where everyone could just be nice to each other for a change."

"You told me that I could not judge you until I met you face to face," said Aslan, letting his paw fall. "I hope that you will now do me that same honor."

The Doctor did a double take, and he nearly toppled over again.

"That was you!" exclaimed the Doctor. "In the darkness! Oh, that is just — I really am clever, you know that? The only person I can rescue, and it winds up being the bloke who can fix this mess all up, lickety split. I'm a genius, a complete and utter genius. Certainly had that one planned out from the beginning, I can tell you that much."

"You had no idea, did you?" Susan asked.

"Well, not an idea as such… maybe just a feeling… or maybe a feeling about a feeling…" The Doctor scratched the back of his neck, then beamed at the two girls. "Hello! I'm the Doctor. You must be the humans who traversed the inter-dimensional gateway."

"I went through a wardrobe," said Lucy, shaking his hand.

"Brilliant!" said the Doctor. He noticed Aslan slinking away, and hastily made his apologies to the sisters before dashing to catch up with the Lion.

They were walking up a grassy hill, the Doctor and Aslan. The Doctor was breathing in the fresh air, the air he never thought he'd taste again. He admired the landscape surrounding them—all the flowers in bloom and the new leaves on the trees, the tweeting of birds in the forest and the soft grass beneath his feet. The gentle Narnian sun shone down upon him, purging him of the deeper traces of darkness that Jadis had implanted in his soul.

"It really is a gorgeous little pocket universe," said the Doctor. "Your work?"

Aslan nodded.

"Very good. Very tasteful." He paused, and hesitated. "Jadis?"

"Dead," said Aslan.

"Ah," said the Doctor. He gave a long sigh which seemed to stifle a complex set of emotions. He ran a hand through his hair. "Should have known, really. Probably for the best. No second chances, and all that. Best just let the universe get on without her."

"You were never the same as her, Doctor," said Aslan. "I've seen into your soul. When Jadis killed her world, she felt only pride and power and spite. When you destroyed yours, you were plagued by remorse and guilt."

The Doctor shook his head. "But there's that little part of me that's just like her. A part of me feels that power, that spite, even now. It's so tempting, now that I'm alone again. I catch myself thinking, I'm the only one left; I can do anything I want, laws of time be damned. I could go back and get Rose before the battle of Canary Warf, horde her for myself and create a massive, universe-destroying paradox, and who could stop me?"

"And Jadis had a little part of herself that felt your same sense of remorse and guilt over what she had done," said Aslan. "But that does not make you identical, Doctor. That does not make you Jadis."

The Doctor did not seem convinced.

"If you could have given your life to save both Gallifrey and the universe, would you?" asked Aslan.

"If it stopped Rassilon and the Daleks, then yes," said the Doctor. "In a heartsbeat." He paused. "Jadis wouldn't have done that, would she?"

"She did the opposite. She destroyed Charn to preserve her own life." Aslan gave the Doctor a gentle smile. "You are not a monster, my friend. You should not be ashamed that you survived."

"Rose would have said that," said the Doctor. He stared into the distance, at the green forests and the camp just outside Beruna. "I'm never going to see her again. And I'm going to have to live with that, now."

"You were the one who said that it was loss that defined life as much as love," said Aslan.

"Ah, yes, with the Cybermen. I remember that."

"And do you feel the same way now?"

"Always," said the Doctor. He paused. "But that doesn't make it any easier."

"Perhaps you will see your Rose again," said Aslan. "Perhaps, some day, she will come back."

The Doctor gave him a sad look that showed how impossible he felt this was, then shifted his gaze back into the distance. For a while, they said nothing.

"So, trapped in the ice, huh?" said the Doctor, finally. "Didn't think that was even possible for a Guardian."

"Being trapped is only a state of mind," said Aslan.

The Doctor ran a hand through his hair. "Blimey, you lot really go all out on the enigmatic," he said. "A simple 'yes' or 'no' would suffice."

"What do you think, Doctor?" asked Aslan.

The Doctor gave it some thought. "Well, you're not really a Lion at all, I know that already. You Guardians, you're all higher dimensional beings. Not really that easy to trap, exactly — especially not in normal, four-dimensional space-time. Jadis could barely control the fourth dimension — that's why she wanted me. And she seemed to be pretty sure she hadn't seen you since she took over. All of which means that you couldn't have been trapped in the ice at all." The Doctor frowned. "Thing is, I remember that Song in the darkness. You were there. It's impossible, it's ludicrous, but it's true." He screwed up his face in concentration. "Did she trap your four-dimensional essence in some sort of causal anti-causal matter transference loop?"

Aslan gave a purr that sounded a little like a laugh. He let the wind rustle through his mane, as he considered his next words. "I suppose it's more accurate to say that she trapped a piece of my mind inside a magic web, locking me out of the Land of Narnia."

"That's your own nice way of telling me I've got no hope of ever understanding it?" asked the Doctor.

Aslan purred again, his mane ruffling with the vibrations of his laughter. "You finally understand how your human companions feel," he said.

The Doctor gave a sheepish grin. "Walked right into that one," he muttered. He thought for a moment. "So why didn't Jadis know that I was going to release you? She saw every other move I made a mile off."

Aslan considered. "I don't think that Jadis was ever aware that the magic web she had woven was based on the Deep Magic from the Dawn of Time; a lock that only you could break. Once you freed me, I was able to enter this world once more. I was able to keep my promise."

The Doctor gave Aslan a sideways smile. "That you did," said the Doctor. "And quite spectacularly. Never thought I'd come back from the dead. Well, not back from petrification, at any rate." His smile dropped, and his brow creased. "That's not part of the Deep Magic, too, is it? No, wait, hold up." He started to carve symbols into the air, working out the math in his mind.

"The Deep Magic is from the dawn of time," said Aslan, "but there is also a Deeper Magic from before the dawn of time. I tricked Jadis into unlocking the Deeper Magic, and I used that to bring you back."

The Doctor's hand dropped back to his side. "Before the dawn of time," he mused. He shook his head. "There was nothing before the dawn of time."

"Is that your religion?" asked Aslan, interestedly.

The Doctor shivered in the warm air.

"I'm sorry, my friend," said Aslan. "I did not mean to bring up bad memories. I was simply curious about what you had worked out."

"About before the dawn of time?" asked the Doctor. "Not much. Apparently, it exists, despite the fact that its existence is impossible. Still, I suppose it's only natural that I wouldn't understand. After all, I'm just your run-of-the-mill four dimensional being. Can't work out all those complicated 'before the dawn of time' bits you lot are always going on about."

"There will come a time, Doctor, when you will need to know," said Aslan. "Until then, feel blessed that you live in ignorance."

The Doctor shot him a confused look, but if Aslan noticed, he decided not to acknowledge it. The two listened, as a blue bird began to chirp its tune into the air.

"I still need to bring you to Narnia," said Aslan.

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. "I thought you were the one who brought me here in the first place."

"You of all people should know that not all events progress in a linear fashion," said Aslan.

The Doctor laughed. "You're sending the summons back in time, you mean," he said. He sobered, then. "I don't have to stay in this universe, do I?"

"No," said Aslan. "Mr. Tumnus is back at the camp, along with the items that Jadis confiscated from you during your captivity. He can show you the way to the lamppost. From there, you'll be able to find the gateway back to Earth."

The Doctor smiled into the sunlight, as it twinkled in his eyes. The wind ruffled through his hair, and the last remnants of darkness left his face, as he once more breathed in his freedom. He gave a small stretch. "Bout time I got going, then," he said. "Time and space to explore, and whatnot." He turned to Aslan. "I'm glad I met you, Aslan."

"And I you, Doctor," said Aslan.

The Doctor gave Aslan one final, friendly smile, and then set off down the hill, towards Mr. Tumnus and his Tardis. As Aslan watched him go, Lucy and Susan came to join the Lion. Lucy was peering off into the distance. "Who was that, Aslan?" she asked.

Aslan's eyes didn't leave the disappearing speck. "A good friend to Narnia," he said, "and a good friend of mine."


End file.
